[ She sounds sincere, but Peter still has his doubts. He's paranoid as hell, when he has to be, and considering he's dealing with a creature that, from what he recalls, is renowned for being duplicitous, he thinks now's as good a time as any to be wary.
He glances up, though, using the position of the sun to make his best guess about which direction is north, and consequently, which direction Neverwinter lies.
Yondu would've come up with a way to get them turned around to head toward the city, turn her in and claim whatever bounty might be on her head. He was clever and a giant prick like that.
The option briefly crosses Peter's mind.
He makes the conscious decision to turn them bodily away from the city, letting her lean on him. ]
They're gonna come looking for you soon. Trap like that, I'm sure it triggered something to let them know it's been tripped.
If you're lucky, they'll figure the trap was good enough to keep you locked up, and they'll take their time.
[ There's no need for him to mention what might happen if she's unlucky. ]
[ That's the thing about magical creatures: a lot of them have a special sense of direction, when they're connected to the earth. Yan knows which way takes them back to Neverwinter, and she pays close attention, but—
Peter turns the other way.
Yan leans into him as they walk, using him as a makeshift crutch to keep her weight off of her foot. ]
I know.
[ Her voice is grim, anxiety buried under gravity. ]
I don't think they will be in a rush to find me, but... I can't give them the opportunity to catch up to me.
[ He sighs it out, in that sort of way that expresses he’s not surprised, but that he’s still at least a little disappointed – though why he should be disappointed is anyone’s guess. It’s not like it’s really his problem, after all.
Even if he is still guiding her toward the next little village – the one where the alchemist who had contracted him resides – and letting her lean her weight against him.
It’s because she has his coat, he tells himself, and he’s always had a bad habit of being overprotective of his belongings. Once they get to a place where he can get his coat back, he’ll wash his hands of the situation. ]
[ A touch defensively. He feels annoyed enough that he forgot what she was called, which was a bad move. Yondu would’ve had his ass for forgetting the names and abilities of an otherworldly being that could potentially kill him.
At her thanks, he falls quiet. He’s not used to gratitude, unless it came in the form of a monetary exchange. “Thanks for killing that thing/finding that thing/destroying that thing. Here’s 50 gold.” In answer, he just sort of shrugs. ]
I think we both know that is more than most would do.
[ A little quieter, her tone harder. Sometimes, it feels like there isn't much kindness in the world – a lot of selfishness, greed, and cruelty. Freeing a trapped animal is significant, and even now, he's still helping her along, keeping her upright, letting him wear his coat.
[ He grumbles it a little, apparently still bothered to have gotten involved at all.
(He shouldn't have, and he can practically hear Yondu screeching at him about how weak and stupid he is for letting his sentiment get in the way of good sense.)
He huffs out a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head a little. ]
[ As grateful as Yan is, she would absolutely agree that Peter made a bad call; he shouldn't have gotten involved. He should have left her in that cage and gone about his business, or even abandoned her as soon as he realized what she is. Good sense would have turned him in that direction. Good sense would have driven him to walk away.
All of that logical reasoning is what makes Yan suspicious. What is he getting out of this? What does he want for it? What is he going to expect from her? She may be accepting his help right now, but she isn't trusting him (she's not that foolish). ]
He knows a couple people who specialize in that sort of shit – dispelling tracking runes to make the movement of "acquired" goods a little easier – but they mostly lie in larger cities, where shit like that can go unseen and unnoticed, or at least where the proper authorities can be convinced with a few coins to look the other way.
But he hasn't spoken to any of them for a very long time, mostly because he's trying to turn a new leaf, here, and interacting with any of those assholes increases the likelihood of him running into his old gang.
[ The town has an alchemist, which leads Peter to assume that there's probably a healer, too – maybe not a miracle worker, but at least one that knows a few of the basics.
He hesitates again, then, ]
Listen, if I bring you to this town...
[ He trails off, trying to think of how best to phrase this. Then, ]
... it's not gonna be Neverwinter all over again, is it?
[ She leans away from him – without letting go – as indignance flares in her chest.
She's used to this – but that doesn't mean it stings much less. ]
I don't go around murdering for fun.
[ He was the first person she's actively killed. She's lashed out at humans before, had to defend herself so she could escape, but she's never killed for the hell of it. ]
[ He doesn't look entirely convinced, but he makes an effort to cast his words a little more mildly. ]
I don't know you at all, but I do know that there are certain rumors that get around. Mysterious deaths and not-so mysterious deaths, with fox spirits that may or not be involved.
[ A pause, and he adds, ]
Maybe the rumors aren't true. I mean, obviously you haven't tried to kill me. I just want to make sure that if I leave you somewhere, I don't have to wonder whether or not I've just lit the fuse on a stick of dynamite.
Rumors spread by obsessive men whose egos can't tolerate the idea that a beautiful woman doesn't want him.
[ Over and over and over. ]
Our reputations are historically sullied because we happen to have the strength to defend ourselves from men who think they own us just because they find us attractive. The same thing happens every day to women who aren't huli jing; they just aren't always so lucky when a man thinks he can take what he wants.
[ And her words are so cold – venomous, even. ]
We are magic. When men fixate on us, we can hear them – every disgusting, wanton thing they think and say about us. It stays like that until they let us go, but until then, it never stops. The men like that – they already think they own any woman they lust after, and the other women don't know it until the damage is done.
We have to listen to them.
[ Bile rises in the back of her throat, and she finally releases Peter, letting her hand fall from his shoulder. ]
And nobody listens to us.
[ She starts shrugging off his jacket, wincing as she tries to compensate with her weight on one foot. ]
I'm not going to— curse you if you leave me here, or whatever the rumors say. And I am not going to hurt anyone in Silverkeep, so your conscience should be clear. You have already helped me more than you needed to, and you don't owe me anything.
[ He's not surprised that she defends herself – he knows what he's heard, and he knows what he's saying, and he knows what accusations he's making. He's not so brazen as to call her a murderer, not in so many words, but she knows what he's edging around.
So, of course she would argue it. God knows he would, too.
But that she argues so vehemently, so coldly, is what really startles him.
That paranoid voice at the back of his head, the one that sounds suspiciously like Yondu, tells him not to be an idiot. There was a reason fox spirits had a reputation like this, and that no matter how outlandish a story might be, there would always be a small grain of truth to it.
The quieter voice, the one that sounds like himself, says that the grain of truth is this: what she's telling him. That her kind has the reputation it has because of the ugly pride of men. And that's really not all that surprising, is it?
When she pulls away, he lets her, though, instinct makes him flinch out a hand to help steady her. When she starts to shrug out of his jacket, he quickly averts his gaze up to the treetops out of a sense of decorum. When she offers him his coat, he only sees a flicker of deep red out of the corner of his eye, but he figures out what the gesture is quickly enough.
He's quiet for a long moment, frowning up at the leaves, grappling with what he knows and what he's just heard.
Then, slowly, ]
I'm sorry.
[ He offers up flippant apologies pretty often; this time, at least, he sounds sincere. ]
I just hear a lot of stories. Rumors. In this line of work, having the sort of skepticism that borders on paranoia tends to save your hide.
[ He lets out a slow breath, looking toward her, but keeping his gaze on her face. ]
Silverkeep is about two days' travel from here.
[ Which will take even longer on a broken foot. ]
If you wanna go your own way, I won't stop you. But I can still help you get there.
[ Yan has had decades now to endure the misconceptions and prejudices of humans and other races who believed the worst of her kind. She tries not to get involved often, for that very reason, but when she lets herself seek company from the inevitable loneliness that comes with solitude, she can forget – at least for a moment – what people expect her to be. She's never felt that she's been seen as what and who she is, in the same hand; when others look at her, they see a human or a huli jing. One is welcomed readily, and the other deals with... this.
At least he isn't trying to kill her. All things considered, this is probably one of the least distressing interactions she's had with a human who knows what she is.
Somehow, it isn't easier.
She waits for him to take his coat, letting the silence drag between them. The longer it stretches, the more antsy she gets, and she finds herself watching Peter's hands, waiting for him to reach for a weapon.
(He has every advantage. It would be laughably easy, and that's what terrifies her right now.)
Yan waits. And waits. And when she's just about ready to drop his jacket and try to run, he speaks.
The apology is so foreign that, at first, she thinks she might have imagined it. Her shock is plain on her face, the guarded, hardened expression dropping away in a heartbeat as she stares at him and listens to him speak. Again, she knows she's an easy target right now, and she doesn't understand why he's bothering to mislead her, why he's wasting breath on lies, unless—
—he really means what he says.
And gods, he's— he's looking at her face. He's looking at her, and not trying to sneak a lingering, lascivious glimpse before she shifts. He's not taking advantage of the fact that she's naked and hobbled and vulnerable, as much as she may hate to admit it. She's so stunned by the offer, by his sincerity, that she can only stare at him in her own moment of silence. She's trying to pick the dishonesty out of his eyes, trying to dig up where he's misleading her, but—
She hates how much she wants to believe him.
(She hates how much she wants a shred of acceptance.)
Careful, still watching him for any signs of a betrayal, she lowers his jacket again. She's tentative as she slides it back on, reaching out to brace herself on Peter's arm as she gets the red leather wrapped around herself properly. ]
[ Once she's dressed – as dressed as she can be, anyway, considering he only currently has a coat to offer her – he shifts back to a more natural position, holding still while she steadies herself. ]
Peter Quill.
[ There's another name he wants to go by eventually, once he's a little more renowned; for now, he figures this is enough. ]
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I think they're from Neverwinter – or hired by the guard. They think I killed a knight in cold blood, when I was only defending myself.
[ She shifts her weight on her foot, glaring at the forest floor. ]
I was just trying to tell him to leave me alone.
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He glances up, though, using the position of the sun to make his best guess about which direction is north, and consequently, which direction Neverwinter lies.
Yondu would've come up with a way to get them turned around to head toward the city, turn her in and claim whatever bounty might be on her head. He was clever and a giant prick like that.
The option briefly crosses Peter's mind.
He makes the conscious decision to turn them bodily away from the city, letting her lean on him. ]
They're gonna come looking for you soon. Trap like that, I'm sure it triggered something to let them know it's been tripped.
If you're lucky, they'll figure the trap was good enough to keep you locked up, and they'll take their time.
[ There's no need for him to mention what might happen if she's unlucky. ]
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Peter turns the other way.
Yan leans into him as they walk, using him as a makeshift crutch to keep her weight off of her foot. ]
I know.
[ Her voice is grim, anxiety buried under gravity. ]
I don't think they will be in a rush to find me, but... I can't give them the opportunity to catch up to me.
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[ Just in case either of them forgot. ]
As long as you’ve still got it on you, it doesn’t really matter how much distance you’ve got on them. Assuming they care enough to pursue you, anyway.
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I know. But I don't have the skill to dispel it on my own.
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[ He sighs it out, in that sort of way that expresses he’s not surprised, but that he’s still at least a little disappointed – though why he should be disappointed is anyone’s guess. It’s not like it’s really his problem, after all.
Even if he is still guiding her toward the next little village – the one where the alchemist who had contracted him resides – and letting her lean her weight against him.
It’s because she has his coat, he tells himself, and he’s always had a bad habit of being overprotective of his belongings. Once they get to a place where he can get his coat back, he’ll wash his hands of the situation. ]
No healing spells either, I’m guessing.
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[ So that would be a "no." ]
I owe you for saving my life.
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[ A touch defensively. He feels annoyed enough that he forgot what she was called, which was a bad move. Yondu would’ve had his ass for forgetting the names and abilities of an otherworldly being that could potentially kill him.
At her thanks, he falls quiet. He’s not used to gratitude, unless it came in the form of a monetary exchange. “Thanks for killing that thing/finding that thing/destroying that thing. Here’s 50 gold.” In answer, he just sort of shrugs. ]
I just unlocked a cage.
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[ A little quieter, her tone harder. Sometimes, it feels like there isn't much kindness in the world – a lot of selfishness, greed, and cruelty. Freeing a trapped animal is significant, and even now, he's still helping her along, keeping her upright, letting him wear his coat.
It's... kind. ]
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Now I'm caught up in this. Whatever this is.
[ He grumbles it a little, apparently still bothered to have gotten involved at all.
(He shouldn't have, and he can practically hear Yondu screeching at him about how weak and stupid he is for letting his sentiment get in the way of good sense.)
He huffs out a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head a little. ]
Don't worry about it.
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All of that logical reasoning is what makes Yan suspicious. What is he getting out of this? What does he want for it? What is he going to expect from her? She may be accepting his help right now, but she isn't trusting him (she's not that foolish). ]
What's this way? Your camp?
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[ Though the silver in the mines ran out ages ago, from what Peter understands. ]
Was headed that way anyway to tell a guy his job is impossible.
[ Bitter? Peter? Never. ]
I'll drop you off there, you give me back my stuff, and I'll be on my way.
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Do you know anyone there who could dispel the rune?
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He knows a couple people who specialize in that sort of shit – dispelling tracking runes to make the movement of "acquired" goods a little easier – but they mostly lie in larger cities, where shit like that can go unseen and unnoticed, or at least where the proper authorities can be convinced with a few coins to look the other way.
But he hasn't spoken to any of them for a very long time, mostly because he's trying to turn a new leaf, here, and interacting with any of those assholes increases the likelihood of him running into his old gang.
So— ]
Not really.
Not anymore, anyway.
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Gods, that's unhelpful. ]
Healers, then?
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[ The town has an alchemist, which leads Peter to assume that there's probably a healer, too – maybe not a miracle worker, but at least one that knows a few of the basics.
He hesitates again, then, ]
Listen, if I bring you to this town...
[ He trails off, trying to think of how best to phrase this. Then, ]
... it's not gonna be Neverwinter all over again, is it?
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This is going to be fun.
She stiffens a little, stopping short in her half-hopping. ]
What is that supposed to mean?
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[ A beat, as he tries to consider if he should do this diplomatically.
—apparently not, because what he decides to say is, ]
If someone winds up dead there? That'll be on me.
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She's used to this – but that doesn't mean it stings much less. ]
I don't go around murdering for fun.
[ He was the first person she's actively killed. She's lashed out at humans before, had to defend herself so she could escape, but she's never killed for the hell of it. ]
I hunt chickens, not men.
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I don't know you at all, but I do know that there are certain rumors that get around. Mysterious deaths and not-so mysterious deaths, with fox spirits that may or not be involved.
[ A pause, and he adds, ]
Maybe the rumors aren't true. I mean, obviously you haven't tried to kill me. I just want to make sure that if I leave you somewhere, I don't have to wonder whether or not I've just lit the fuse on a stick of dynamite.
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[ Over and over and over. ]
Our reputations are historically sullied because we happen to have the strength to defend ourselves from men who think they own us just because they find us attractive. The same thing happens every day to women who aren't huli jing; they just aren't always so lucky when a man thinks he can take what he wants.
[ And her words are so cold – venomous, even. ]
We are magic. When men fixate on us, we can hear them – every disgusting, wanton thing they think and say about us. It stays like that until they let us go, but until then, it never stops. The men like that – they already think they own any woman they lust after, and the other women don't know it until the damage is done.
We have to listen to them.
[ Bile rises in the back of her throat, and she finally releases Peter, letting her hand fall from his shoulder. ]
And nobody listens to us.
[ She starts shrugging off his jacket, wincing as she tries to compensate with her weight on one foot. ]
I'm not going to— curse you if you leave me here, or whatever the rumors say. And I am not going to hurt anyone in Silverkeep, so your conscience should be clear. You have already helped me more than you needed to, and you don't owe me anything.
[ She holds his jacket out. ]
So— thank you. I will figure it out.
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So, of course she would argue it. God knows he would, too.
But that she argues so vehemently, so coldly, is what really startles him.
That paranoid voice at the back of his head, the one that sounds suspiciously like Yondu, tells him not to be an idiot. There was a reason fox spirits had a reputation like this, and that no matter how outlandish a story might be, there would always be a small grain of truth to it.
The quieter voice, the one that sounds like himself, says that the grain of truth is this: what she's telling him. That her kind has the reputation it has because of the ugly pride of men. And that's really not all that surprising, is it?
When she pulls away, he lets her, though, instinct makes him flinch out a hand to help steady her. When she starts to shrug out of his jacket, he quickly averts his gaze up to the treetops out of a sense of decorum. When she offers him his coat, he only sees a flicker of deep red out of the corner of his eye, but he figures out what the gesture is quickly enough.
He's quiet for a long moment, frowning up at the leaves, grappling with what he knows and what he's just heard.
Then, slowly, ]
I'm sorry.
[ He offers up flippant apologies pretty often; this time, at least, he sounds sincere. ]
I just hear a lot of stories. Rumors. In this line of work, having the sort of skepticism that borders on paranoia tends to save your hide.
[ He lets out a slow breath, looking toward her, but keeping his gaze on her face. ]
Silverkeep is about two days' travel from here.
[ Which will take even longer on a broken foot. ]
If you wanna go your own way, I won't stop you. But I can still help you get there.
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At least he isn't trying to kill her. All things considered, this is probably one of the least distressing interactions she's had with a human who knows what she is.
Somehow, it isn't easier.
She waits for him to take his coat, letting the silence drag between them. The longer it stretches, the more antsy she gets, and she finds herself watching Peter's hands, waiting for him to reach for a weapon.
(He has every advantage. It would be laughably easy, and that's what terrifies her right now.)
Yan waits. And waits. And when she's just about ready to drop his jacket and try to run, he speaks.
The apology is so foreign that, at first, she thinks she might have imagined it. Her shock is plain on her face, the guarded, hardened expression dropping away in a heartbeat as she stares at him and listens to him speak. Again, she knows she's an easy target right now, and she doesn't understand why he's bothering to mislead her, why he's wasting breath on lies, unless—
—he really means what he says.
And gods, he's— he's looking at her face. He's looking at her, and not trying to sneak a lingering, lascivious glimpse before she shifts. He's not taking advantage of the fact that she's naked and hobbled and vulnerable, as much as she may hate to admit it. She's so stunned by the offer, by his sincerity, that she can only stare at him in her own moment of silence. She's trying to pick the dishonesty out of his eyes, trying to dig up where he's misleading her, but—
She hates how much she wants to believe him.
(She hates how much she wants a shred of acceptance.)
Careful, still watching him for any signs of a betrayal, she lowers his jacket again. She's tentative as she slides it back on, reaching out to brace herself on Peter's arm as she gets the red leather wrapped around herself properly. ]
What's your name?
no subject
Peter Quill.
[ There's another name he wants to go by eventually, once he's a little more renowned; for now, he figures this is enough. ]
You?
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[ Just a first name, no last – because huli jing don't have families.
She hesitates before speaking again, as they're finally moving forward. ]
What was the weasel you were tracking?
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